


Imago

by the_transparent_wolf



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Betrayal, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Requited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:57:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9249305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_transparent_wolf/pseuds/the_transparent_wolf
Summary: After V-Day, Eggsy tries to make sense of life. The pieces don't fit like a jigsaw yet while the world shifts under his feet.  Kingsman is no longer an isolated organisation, Dean looms at the edge of the picture, and Harry isn't as dead as most people think.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title changed from _Take Me To Church_ , the original working title taken from the song I was listening to while drafting the first chapter. Unfortunately, neither the title nor the lyrics fitted where the story's heading and the theme of the story. Apologies for any confusion.
> 
>  
> 
>  _Imago_ : an unconscious idealized mental image of someone, especially a parent, which influences a person's behaviour.
> 
>    
> Feedback is always welcome, be it a comment, critique, or flame. It's how I can improve!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 26.01.2017: Minor edits. Many thanks to the wonderful BloodAsh and the phenomenal Deepdarkwaters for betaing this chapter.
> 
> Edited 26.02.17: Added further dialogue between Roxy and Eggsy to foreshadow, not necessary to re-read.

Misty September light fell through the gauze curtains of a long rectangular room done in shades of ivory and cool grey. Centralised air-conditioning maintained the room at twenty-four degrees Celsius; it was quiet now, apart from the low swoosh of a ULPA air-filter. There were no flowers in the office. Perched on the rosewood desk at the south end of the room, a clock with thin Roman numerals and little curved legs ticked away softly. Eggsy sat in the deep leather armchair facing Yonda Hassan, a tall, slender woman with mocha skin and liquid black eyes.

“I still miss Harry. I can’t help but think, what would Harry do? Was that something Harry would have said? Even on my missions. I know I’m supposed to concentrate, but…”

“You are processing your grief. How did you see Harry?”

“I dunno.” Eggsy scrubbed his face with both hands, elbows resting on his knees, then restlessly shifted back to a more open position. “He was good to me. Harry was good to me.”

“You trusted him implicitly,” remarked Yonda, the gold nib of her pen shifting over notes. “You passed your train test with flying colours.”

“I’ve never grassed anyone up,” said Eggsy flatly.

“I don’t doubt that. You made a promise to Harry on your life, that you would never speak of it to anyone. Was it a personal promise, Eggsy?”

Eggsy’s hand twitched on his knee. He kept his expression as neutral as he could and stared at the pointed patent toe of Yonda’s shoe worn on her crossed leg, made his shoulders stay relaxed and straight.

“Maybe,” he said, eventually.

“You looked up to him.”

“Yes. He was…  look, when you’re a kid, you think everything is fair. You want everything to be fair. You think that you can advance if you work for it. Play hard and well by the rules. That if you tick the _t_ s and dot the _i_ s, you’ll get ahead. I did well in school and Marines training because I learnt the rules and respected the institution. I thought that was how life worked. Then my Mum gets knocked up, and this guy moves in— Then reality pulls the rug out under you because life ain’t fair. All the merits and distinctions weren’t worth a thing in the real world. See, when the guy gives you a slap on the arm for talking back, and the coppers turn their head ‘cause it’s nothing new from the council estates, and they don’t bother showing up anymore: that’s when the penny drops. Harry was the best thing that ever happened to me. He came at the low point in my life. He looked inside me and saw something worth seeing. He gave me a chance. He said he’d be fair—that there were exceptions to snobs even with posh people— _he was fair._ ”

“You saw integrity in him?”

“Yes. He had more integrity than anyone I ever known. Have ever known. I never knew my Dad, see.”

“And so you respected and obliged Harry’s wishes?”

“Yeah, I guess. Harry was a gentleman.”

“He was a model to you, in every sense of the word,” observed Yonda. “Perhaps even more significant to you than a sponsor is to a proposal in the ordinary course of events. You mentioned your father.”

 _Oh god,_ thought Eggsy.

“Do you feel Harry represented something you were owed?”

“No!” exclaimed Eggsy, nearly jumping out of his chair. “Fuck. No. Never. I never thought I was entitled to him.” He could feel heat creeping up his ears. Whether from embarrassment or guilt or desire or some unholy combination of all three, Eggsy hoped it didn’t show on his face. Yonda showed no reaction, except to look at her notes while Eggsy settled down.

“It felt like he restored my life. I was so lost. I was drowning, but he pulled me back up. He gave me a shot at a place I could see myself in, that I could see a future in.”

“Harry was your father’s sponsor. He supervised your father through his training, quite literally to the end. It was an unusual situation to have an agent nominate father and son—”

“What are you getting at?”

“Simply that it is noteworthy,” said Yonda. Eggsy watched her put something down in her notes. _Eggsy is defensive when prompted on attitude towards…_ Yonda pulled her notes out of Eggsy’s sight with a slight smile. 

“Can’t I read my own patient notes?” challenged Eggsy.

“The notes are for my reference for future sessions. No one else has access to them, I can assure you.”

“But they’re notes about me?”

“They are notes concerning your progress. It wouldn’t be constructive for you to read them. My job is to help you to gain insight, and to assist you, as far as I can, with your grief.”

“I feel like I shouldn’t,” muttered Eggsy. “Be grieving, I mean. It’s not my place. Grieving’s for family, ain’t it?”

“We grieve over the deaths of those with whom we felt an affinity. It is not an exclusive description for close family members of the deceased. One might even say that, as the late Galahad’s proposal, you have more of a right to grieve for his passing than any of your peers.” Yonda studied Eggsy thoughtfully. “You readily acknowledge Harry’s role as an authority figure and a model in your life. Would you consider him a friend?”

“Yes.” A definitive answer, with no hesitation.

“And yet, you feel guilt for grieving for his passing.” Yonda’s attention zoomed in like a sniper’s focus, a weight that pierced through the stitches of Eggsy’s suit and snagged at his nerves. “Why is that, Eggsy?”

“I don’t know,” said Eggsy. “It’s just—just a thought, alright? It’s complicated.” Immediately he wanted to swallow his words for sounding like a teenage girl.

“Do you feel your actions contributed to the circumstances leading to Harry’s death?”

“Fucking hell. No. Yes.” Eggsy got up, jittery in his hands and legs, and strolled away from Yonda and her clipboard. “I don’t know. Merlin said I shouldn’t feel responsible, but you know how well I respond to commands.”

“I know you respond with sensibility and obedience when a command makes sense in its context. I believe you understood Merlin’s intentions.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.”

“I don’t think you agreed with him. You understood his intention, but you didn’t agree with his assessment.”

“What else do you think?” asked Eggsy, glaring out the window at the gardeners trimming hedges with manual shears.

“I think that Merlin is correct. No links of causation exist between what you did and what happened to Harry. Even if they exist—and I’m not saying they do—there is so little proximity that they have no relevance in the big picture. Richmond Valentine pulled the trigger. Gazelle handed him the gun.”

Eggsy made no reply. But he left the gardeners with their trimming and returned to the chair. 

“You mentioned that you miss Harry frequently,” prompted Yonda. She halted at the look he shot her. “It’s okay to feel conflicted. We can sort through it slowly. You said that you liked Harry’s integrity, what else did you like?”

 _His ass,_ thought Eggsy almost automatically. He winced at his brain. _His legs. Shoulders._ Ghost images popped up before he could shut the floodgate. _Grace and power underneath that tailored suit._ The door caught the final thought by its tail: t _he way he looked at me._

He scratched his nape and adjusted his collar. The cotton felt unaccountably scratchy against his skin. Reaching to straighten his tie, his hands felt the dimpled silk of the knot; trailing down the buttons of his waistcoat, to the signet ring warm on his pinky finger. Eggsy thought about what he wanted to tell her. Whether he should roll over and expose his belly. How much doctor-patient confidentiality really counted at Kingsman.

A clear, single peal from the clock cut through the silence.

“That’s our time for today, Eggsy,” said Yonda. It didn’t escape her the way Eggsy’s expression cleared. “Will you come in at the same time next week?”

“Do I get a say?”

“You always have a say,” replied Yonda. Standing up, she walked him to the door of her office. 

“Except if I don’t come in, I can’t accept missions.”

“It’s protocol.” Yonda made to open the door for Eggsy, but old habit made him hold the door for her instead. This time, her smile reached her eyes. “See you later, Eggsy.”

 

 

Since his first training days at HQ, Eggsy had memorised the areas of the country house that he could access, and his mental map grew with his time at Kingsman. It was a Palladian manor left outwardly untouched by renovations, bequeathed by one of the founders. Eggsy had ceased to wonder smugly whether the old Duke was turning in his marble grave that a pleb like him was striding through its great rooms when he walked out with JB in his arms. Today, he could admire the long hallways and rich tapestries without the baggage of their history. 

“Hey, Eggsy,” said Roxy.

“Hey yourself. Where are you heading?”

“I’d just come back and signed off my weapons.” Roxy made a face. “I’m going to shower and walk Meredith.”

“Can I come?”

“To the shower or to the walk?”

“I’ll pass on the shower, thanks.” Eggsy dodged a punch on the arm, which turned into a hug. Roxy smelled like sweat and iron and gun oil, a familiar smell, which accompanied his most vivid memories of recent years. “You smell, Rox.”

“Shut up. I’m going before I smear something on you. Meet me under the Apollo statute?”

“See ya!” Eggsy waved.

Gardeners were still trimming hedges when Eggsy reached the Apollo statue facing eastward, empty marble eyes looking over hundreds of acres of rolling fields rising to the grey-blue horizon line. A border of handsome junipers stood guard five kilometres in the distance, the physical demarcation of lawn and pastoral fields. Luxuriant bushes shaped into cones and balls dotted a garden nearer to the house, its geometric design marked by a dense low wall of English boxwood that led to the open lawn. JB sniffed at the ground around Eggsy’s feet, tail wagging, and Eggsy could smell the spicy pines in the late autumn air. 

JB’s head shot up and he barked at someone behind Eggsy. A moment later Roxy appeared, leading her poodle by the leash. 

Without a word, they set off together. Gravel crunched underneath their shoes, and both JB and Meredith seemed thrilled to explore together, though the size difference between them was almost comical now. Meredith fully grown reached Eggsy’s knees. JB was still the size of a pillow.

“I guess he’s not gonna grow bigger,” sighed Eggsy.

“No, Eggsy.” Roxy’s mouth twitched, just a little.

“How did the mission go?”

“It went well. Target secured and eliminated. Clean shot, no witnesses or CCTV recordings.”

“Do you have to go to psych reviews as well?” asked Eggsy.

“We all do.” Roxy gave him a look that meant the answer was obvious. “Why do you ask?”

“Just asking,” said Eggsy, looking straight ahead.

“Really.”

“Really,” confirmed Eggsy.

“Okay,” said Roxy. “Did your therapist say something to you?”

Eggsy kicked a stone, then felt childish for doing so. He had probably scratched the leather. “She wanted to talk about Harry. Again.”

“It still hurts,” said Roxy softly.

“Yeah.”

They fell silent. It was nice to be able to walk without speaking. During tactical and stealth training Roxy and Eggsy partnered whenever they had a choice, and both developed an appreciation for tacit understanding during extended periods of silence. The only noises came from the dogs nosing through the grass in search of sticks or following a scent. 

As Dusk descended over the ruddy sky, gravel gave away to turf, where a thousand dewdrops glistened on the blades of grass. Eggsy fancied he could feel the damp earth through the leather soles of his shoes. Roxy pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her nose.

“Alright?”

“I might’ve caught a bug, but medical gave me all the pre- and post-mission shots. Next time I’m bringing a bottle of hand sanitiser everywhere,” muttered Roxy. “Where did you go in your last mission? Somewhere exotic, I bet.”

“Uh. I was doing surveillance in a van in London.”

Roxy stared at him. “What was your mission?”

“Surveillance and report,” said Eggsy.

“What do you mean?”

“Just that.”

The crease between Roxy’s eyebrows deepened with anger and affront. “But you’ve passed the evaluations. You’re a Knight. Merlin said so. The new Arthur recognised you as a Knight. You even inherited Harry’s title!”

“I don’t think that’s the issue here,” said Eggsy, yet doubt loomed in the back of his mind. 

“This is ridiculous!” fumed Roxy. Her breaths came out in little puffs in the late September air. “It’s not as if London isn’t chock full of CCTV. If there weren’t street cameras we can install our own in a few minutes. What are the boffins doing if they can’t even handle basic surveillance work? If Harry knew about this—” She stopped short.

“Yeah, well. Harry’s not here anymore.” Eggsy stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and marched forward, leaving Roxy behind. Grass crunched as she caught up to him in a few long strides. Before she could apologise, Eggsy said, “It’s fine. You do what you’re told, and it’s what I have to do.” Eggsy bent down to untie JB’s leash. “Let’s throw some sticks for the dogs, then we can grab dinner.”

They had strayed far enough from the house that they were no longer on carefully maintained lawn, but on rougher grassland where dried maple leaves and sticks lay scattered on the ground. Eggsy weighed up a stick while Roxy undid Meredith’s leash.

“You can take this, can’t you?” Eggsy asked JB, who barked back. 

JB raced after the stick like nothing else in the world mattered, stubby legs jumping over smaller branches and wriggling under larger ones. Eggsy could respect that kind of single-mindedness. Meredith bounded after him.

Roxy stood on the hill in front of Eggsy with her feet evenly planted and her hands clasped behind her back. She wore riding boots that flattered her strong long legs and bottle green herringbone. Suddenly, she glanced back at Eggsy, nodding her chin towards the fields. Eggsy climbed up the hill, joining her and looking in the same direction. A troop of freshly uniformed recruits jogged past below carrying M4A1 rifles and backpacks slung over their shoulders. They could see Merlin’s trim figure in the distance with his ever-present clipboard and a stopwatch.

“Does he ever rest?” said Roxy.

“Probably not. Can you imagine him chilling?” They met each other’s eyes, then turned away to hide their giggles. “Aw, come on, JB! Leave them alone.”

“Meredith!” Roxy shouted, followed by a sharp whistle.

Meredith shot a longing gaze at the candidates and turned away and started back to them. JB, the little shit he chose to be, chased the ankle of one candidate, stick all but forgotten. Sniggers spread among the other candidates as the lad tried not to trip over the growling pug.

“JB! Come back!”

It was too late. Merlin’s attention was caught; he made eye contact with Eggsy, one eyebrow slightly raised, the kind of deadpan inscrutable look he got whenever he was thinking or not thinking at all and just wanted you to think that he’s thinking. Slowly, he raised two fingers, pointed them at Eggsy, then at his own eyes.

“Shit!”

“Damn straight,” Roxy agreed. “Go get your dog, Galahad.” Even as she said it, JB decided that he preferred Eggsy’s company and abandoned the trousers of the candidate. Folding on hind legs next to Eggsy's feet, his big starry eyes pleaded for a petting

“I’m going to pay for interrupting their run,” Eggsy groaned, roughly scratching JB.

“Chin up, Eggsy,” said Roxy. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, I haven’t seen Merlin around much at all. The Arthur-elect must be demanding a lot of his time.”

“What’s his name, the new Arthur?”

“Odgers.”

“Is he any good? What? I’ve seen you speak to him; I’ve barely spent five minutes in his presence apart from him nodding at me when we pass each other.”

“Don’t tell anyone else.” Roxy lowered her voice. “Percival says he’s a political appointment.”

“I thought Kingsman was supposed to be above it all?” Eggsy demanded.

“It _is_ ,” insisted Roxy. “Percival just made that off cuff remark to me one day. So I’m telling you to keep this between us and for goodness’s sake don’t spread it around because Percival’ll think he can’t trust me to be discreet.”

Roxy looked upset and remorseful, Eggsy hastened to reassure her. “I won’t tell a soul, Rox. I swear on my honour.”

 

 

Later, after fragrant curry and sesame naan bread at a local Indian restaurant, Roxy and Eggsy strolled side-by-side in the satiny moonlight through Belgrave Square. Eggsy knew what this looked like, and he didn’t feel it at all. Not a shock in his fingers when their arms occasionally brushed. Roxy, her lovely profile adumbrated by light both natural and man-made, looked at him quizzically.

“This is my stop,” she said. “See you tomorrow, Eggsy.”

“Bye, Roxy.”

Eggsy watched until Roxy closed her door, the lights inside flickering alive, before he turned and walked towards the boulevard of ferns that led to his house. Darkness draped over him, and his gold-brown hair shone dully between patches of moonlight and shade and pools of yellowish streetlight. The streets were clean and well-lit and the paths were trimmed. But Eggsy felt the pull of an old lead weight in his chest.

Harry’s house, Galahad’s house, rose at the end of a concave row of white stucco terraces. Eggsy fumbled with the key—an old-fashioned key, black and long, fitting into the solid wooden door of the house. He pushed into the house and swung the door close behind him. 

It was pitch black inside. The patter of paws sounded on hardwood floor, followed by JB trying to circle and and jump on Eggsy all at once.

“Hey, JB,” whispered Eggsy, bending down. “Shuuush. Daisy’s sleeping. Go on, back to bed.” JB did not go back to his bed. He sniffed Eggsy from his shoes to his trousers to his hands. 

Seeing that JB was too excited to go to sleep, Eggsy took off his scarf and hung his coat in the cloak closet, and slid down to the floor. Absently he stroked JB until the panting quietened and JB laid down on the floor by his leg. Harry’s grandfather clock ticked near the kitchen. Whenever Eggsy returned, in whatever state he returned, bloody or whole, at the front door, in the sitting room, by the drawing room and in the dinning room, he heard the ticking of the grandfather clock, the mechanical heart of the house.

Blackness pressed in, even though his eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting. Pale moonlight settled on the edges of lamps and a hundred little things like a gauzy veil. The house wasn’t very different from the time Harry stormed off. A soft crochet blanket folded on the sofa; a framed photo of a beaming Daisy in the drawing room; and upstairs, the guest bedroom where Eggsy had once stayed re-decorated as a nursery. The bathroom contained the same line up of bottles and smelt of honeyed oud, crisp amber, rose, spices and sandalwood over a substratum of genuine ambergris and civet.

The same scent clung to Eggsy’s throat and hair and his scarf now. In the foyer of the sleeping house, he ground the heel of his hand against his mouth to stifle wet choked sounds. Whimpering softly, JB laid his head on Eggsy’s leg. They stayed like that until the the stars dimmed in the sky.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The alarm rang at 6:00 am, Greenwich Mean Time. Eggsy stared at the cream ceiling of his bedroom. His limbs felt heavy, immovable, stone-like under the thin wool blanket. Dots of pink and streaks of violet sailed across his vision until it blurred and he closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to the pillow.

He could fade away like this. No one would know. If he just stopped breathing, held his breath for as long as he could. It wouldn’t be too bad, Eggsy reflected, to slip away from the present, just for a moment. Present was where he returned to work. Present was where Harry was not.

The second time the alarm rang from his phone on the bedside table, Eggsy blinked a few times, until reddish blurs focused to cabinets. The flashing digits of the clock reminded him it was ten minutes past six. Eggsy clenched his teeth and swung his legs out of bed in one go.

In the nursery three doors from Eggsy’s bedroom, Daisy clutched the bars of her cot, gazing at the doorway. Her face brightened when she saw Eggsy. She raised her arms expectantly.

“Hello, flower,” murmured Eggsy. “How are we today? Ready to take on the world? Yes you are. Mummy’s going to pick you up from Lollipop.”

Daisy babbled happily at him as he changed her nappy and wiped and powdered, and grabbed at his collar as she was carried to the kitchen and lowered into the high chair. Eggsy put a pot of water to boil and measured out two cups of rolled oats, which various mums-run websites recommended for toddlers between two and three.  JB hovered around his feet, hoping to catch a treat from the cold milk Eggsy stirred into the pot. 

Eggsy scraped the mushy porridge into two bowls, one big and one small. When the small steaming bowl of porridge was set down before Daisy, a spoon handed to her, and the other left to cool on the counter, Eggsy rushed upstairs.

In the bathroom mirror, his reflection averted its blue-bruised eyes. Eggsy fiddled with the taps until hot water filled the sink. A cut-throat razor of full hollow solid ground and mother-of-pearl scales lay beside the shea butter soap and badger brush. Eggsy picked up the blade.

It always gets easier once he started the routine. 

 

* * *

 

Eggsy first met Enide under the looming shadow of Kingsman HQ by Merlin’s introduction. Gaiwan candidates were crawling through the muddy weeds of a creek not ten feet away. Square-jawed and bespectacled, with faint crows-feet at the corners of her eyes and pale blonde hair gelled in a side-part pomp, Enide shook Eggsy’s hand in a firm grip. She wore a waistcoat, trousers, jacket, and leather oxfords, essentially the armour of a Knight, sans tie and pocket square, and he had never seen her in another outfit.

“Galahad, meet Enide. Enide, Galahad,” said Merlin. “Enide is one of the Kingsman handlers. I’ve assigned her to you. She will be in your ear during your missions. Enide, I’m sure you’re aware of Galahad’s reputation.”

“Yes, Merlin.”

“Nice to meet you,” offered Eggsy.

Enide was the same height; their oxfords made little difference. Her eyes were dark and cool, which Eggsy supposed was a good thing for a handler, even though a nagging voice at the back of his mind reminded him that Harry never looked at him like his thoughts didn’t matter. On the other hand, he saw so little of Merlin these days that he forgot how Merlin would look at the Knights.

“Get to know one another. You’ll be spending entire missions with only the pleasure of each other’s voice for company.”

“Won’t I get you anymore, guv?”

“I’m afraid not, lad.” Merlin clasped Eggsy’s shoulder. “We’re short-staffed as is. I’m trying to sort out the mess left by V-Day. Enide is very good. You’ll be safe with her.”

No response came to Eggsy’s mind. Later, he would think of ten appropriate answers and feel embarrassed that he made no reply to Merlin’s reassurance. A weight had settled in his stomach and condemned all spare thoughts from the periphery of his mind. It felt like he was being abandoned, which was preposterous, and ridiculous, and groundless. Merlin, however, took no notice of Eggsy’s silence.

“Any questions, both of you?”

“No, Merlin,” said Enide.

“No,” said Eggsy, glancing at Enide and back to Merlin. “I’ll see you around?”

“Take care, Galahad.”

Merlin stalked back to his recruits, some of whom had stopped moving in the creek to watch them. 

“Do you know when’s the next mission?” said Eggsy.

“I have your next mission.”

“Oh.” Eggsy blinked. “They’ve returned me to service?”

“More or less,” said Enide. “Walk with me.” 

Eggsy walked with her, through the lawn and through the maze.

“It’s domestic surveillance and report. You’ll have a fully equipped van and gears. Get in, install the bugs, get out. You may be told to wait and observe the target for some time.”

“Is that all?”

“Is there a problem, Galahad?”

“It’s just—I was given assassinations for a long while, straight after V-Day. After that, intel-gathering on hostile foreign soil. You get my drift? Why am I given surveillance missions all of a sudden?”

Enide looked at him for a while, eyebrows raised. “It’s been nearly five months since V-Day. Things have settled significantly. Kingsman may have decided that you are no longer required to… Think of it as a break.”

Eggsy didn’t want a break. Breaks meant he had time to think, a dangerous occupation. 

“A break’s not necessary.” 

Enide pursed her lips. “It’s not about what you want. Kingsman has decided a surveillance and report mission is right for you. Will you accept?”

_You always have a choice._

“Yes.”

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betted by the amazing Deepdarkwaters. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Yonda had a habit of making veridical observations of life, but they sounded better in the twenty-four degrees air of her office than the smoulder of reality and Eggsy was always recalling her words when there was no pragmatic value in them. He agreed easily to the mission.

“Good,” said Enide. “Here are the mission particulars. Come into the conference room, Galahad. That’s all right, I can open the door. Sit down, please.” 

The gilt in the mirror faded to a candid photo of a scrawny, sand-haired man in a gingham shirt and dirty cap. 

“The target is Venzire Dijon. He currently controls half of the unregistered arms market in London. He used to be a minor member of the Venz Cartel. After V-Day, his star shot to the sky. He sells anything from Glocks to AK-47s, mainly to London street gangs that have sprouted like wild mushrooms since V-Day.”

“Guy’s an opportunist,” said Eggsy.

“To say the least. His growing business is adding wide blood trails to the ledger of post V-Day crimes, and quite frankly, I wouldn’t put anyone I care for between Dijon and his next million.”

“Except me,” winked Eggsy. It fell awkwardly short when Enide gave no response. “What sort of information do you want?”

“Anything to do with his business. Names, contact details, dates.” Enide handed Eggsy a tablet. “The target’s details.”

The file wouldn’t have filled twenty pages if Eggsy printed it. Eggsy returned to the first page and swiped the tablet more slowly, but the size of the file didn’t improve on second perusal. No hidden links revealed themselves, no external cloud drives. Eggsy’s frown deepened the further he read. Finally, he set down the tablet. Enide gazed at him as if there was nothing wrong with what she handed him.

“There’s barely anything there,” said Eggsy.

“No,” agreed Enide. “Hence the surveillance mission.”

“I mean the information is practically Google-worthy. You could probably find it on his Twitter profile.”

“He doesn’t have one.”

“Enide, tell me there’s a joke. I’m waiting for the joke.”

“There’s no joke, Galahad. This is all the information I was given to deliver to you. As I said, your mission objective is surveillance.”

“Okay. That’s—okay.”

“Have you changed your mind?”

“Absolutely not,” said Eggsy. “When do we start?”

The Kingsman hangar knocked the breath out of Eggsy the first time he saw it, sleeping and silent behind a panel of acrylic glass high above the floor. It still did, when the elevator opened to a loud, bustling ground level.

Burnished chrome distorted and stretched Eggsy’s reflection as he and Enid strode past the fighter jets, the armoured carriers, open-wheel racing cars that seemed to purr even in rest, and a small mountain of missiles being loaded into a drone. Eggsy waved at the head technician directing the effort.

“Do you know him?” asked Enide.

“Yeah, Gurdish’s fixed up my glasses a couple of times.”

Enide gave Eggsy a strange look, but didn’t comment on his association with the boffins. Onward they walked, past the multicoloured fleet of supercars and gleaming motorcycles, to a faded white van parked in a corner.

“This is it,” Enide announced. 

A layer of dust covered its crevices and edges and formed a greyish film over dull windows. Irregular dents and scratches coated the underside of the doors. The tires were bizarrely thick for a medium-sized van, but Eggsy put it down to the weight of the equipment it carried. He pushed aside the sliding door and climbed into the van. Brown industrial carpet stinking of tobacco covered the floor.

“Are you familiar with Kingsman bugs?” called Enide.

Eggsy stepped out of the van. “I’ve installed a couple before.”

“This shouldn’t be a problem, then. Collect them tomorrow morning for Mission Birdseye and have one of the techs sign you off.”

“I’ll see you here, yeah?”

“Yes. See you tomorrow, Galahad.”

“Do you want to have lunch or something?” suggested Eggsy. 

“No, thank you,” said Enide. “I have to run.”

“Maybe another day, then,” said Eggsy.

“Another day.”

Eggsy looked after Enide’s back, then shrugged. He had the rest of the day to himself. He could prepare for the mission, memorise target details, work out a route for infiltration from the rudimentary blueprints. He might stay a bit longer in his office if Ma was going to pick Daisy from Lolipop Daycare. Eggsy strolled past the portraits of dead aristocratic-looking people in Victorian clothing, past drawing rooms set up as classrooms for the recruits, past the library, thinking of the scanty file in the tablet in his hands, thinking, thinking. When he looked up again, he found himself in front of the medical bay. 

Blinking at the sliding glass doors, after a second, Eggsy cursed himself. His body had automatically taken him down the most travelled route of his recruit days. Eggsy turned away, meaning to leave, but then stopped, deciding that he wasn’t about to let a sceptre—a sceptre of a memory—chase him away.

Determinedly, Eggsy marched into the medical bay. The nurse on duty smiled at him, eyes flicking down and up, from the oxfords to the gelled hair, and her smile widened. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted.

“Good afternoon,” said Eggsy.

“How can I help you, sir?”

Eggsy blanked for a moment. He searched for a name he remembered being hospitalised…Gaiwan, no, Gaiwan was in the mortuary. Roxy had been discharged.

“Never mind,” said Eggsy, feeling embarrassed and foolish. “It’s all right.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

Trying not to look like he was escaping, Eggsy walked out of medical as quickly as he had marched into it, and nearly jerked in surprise when his glasses notified him of an incoming call from Enide.

“Galahad. There’s been a change in plans.” Her voice, frosty over the line, slowed Eggsy’s racing heart. “You need to get down to the bullet train right now.”

“I’m on my way. What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Beneath the veneer of ice, only the shortness of Enide’s answer reflected her feelings. “I was notified of the change in mission times a minute ago. I contacted you directly.”

“Alright,” said Eggsy, jumping down the bottom stairs.

“I want you to take the bullet train to London and install the bugs first. By the time you’re done the van’ll have arrived. Don’t forget your gear at the hangar.”

“I’m nearly there.” Eggsy punched the button to the elevator. 

“Have you studied the blueprints?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any idea of an infiltration route?”

“Yes. I’ve got one planned. I was hoping for a bit more time, though.”

“That makes two of us,” Enide muttered. “Get in the train. I’ll talk to you en route.”

The elevator couldn’t drop fast enough, Eggsy squeezed through the opening doors and ran towards a technician who was waiting with a leather duffel bag.

“The van’s ready,” the tech informed Eggsy, handing over the bag and watching him check the contents. “It was an emergency order, but she’s fitted up all right.”

“Thanks. Sorry, gotta run.”

“Wait!” The tech chased after him. “Did anyone show you how to use them?”

Eggsy dropped the bag on the spare seat in the bullet train. “It’s fine. Thanks for your help.”

“Like we don’t deal with emergency orders everyday.” She rolled her eyes, and called out, “Good luck!”

“Bless!” Eggsy called back.

“Are you en route?” Enide’s voice sounded from his glasses.

“Yes.” Eggsy glanced at the screen beside the mini bar. “ETA five minutes.”

“Take out your tablet, we’ll go through the plan now.”

Realising that he’d been clutching his tablet the whole time, Eggsy relaxed his grip. Enide remotely pulled up the blueprints of the target’s building on the tablet, and Eggsy watched her manipulate them into 3-D renditions and mark in red the infiltration and escape route. It was similar to the route he had in mind, but more detailed, more precise.

“Hold up,” said Eggsy. “We can use the window to the storage room.”

“There’s nothing for you to step down on. You haven’t got scaling gear.”

“Trust me, it’s not a problem.”

Eggsy's seatbelt jerked him back as the carriage came to a halt. Around him the soft hiss of releasing seals played like a prelude to the seatbelt light flicking off. 

 

 

 


End file.
